I’m good at self-delusion. One might even call me The Master.
I mean, no one ever has. Called me The Master of Self-Delusion, that is. But I imagine if you asked a couple of my friends, they’d definitely say that I have my trifling moments.
But you see, what seems like “trifling” to others is really evidence of my huge facility for self-delusion.
I continuously overestimate myself.
I really believe I can get to Santa Monica from North Hollywood in thirty minutes. And I would've made it on time, if it hadn't been for that dang traffic.
I know that if I put something off until tomorrow, I’ll actually do it tomorrow.
Every night, when I lay down at 11pm, I honestly think that I will get up at 7am the next day and get to work on time. Half the time, I believe I’m going to get up earlier. Tomorrow might be the day that I work from 6am – 3pm. If my co-workers ask why I’m there so early, I’ll say, “Dunno. Just woke up early…”
Despite the current state of the NASA program, I continue to believe that I will take a space vacation to the moon or another planet some day.
When I sit down with my latest Netflix disk, I seriously figure that I can watch one episode of Battlestar Galatica, and get right back to writing.
Every time I start a novel or play or script, I believe this will be the one. The one that will flow out of my typing fingers in a matter of a mere 168 magic, angstless hours that fly by like happy music. The one in which I will have complete confidence. The one that will fly off my yet-to-be-acquired agent’s desk. The one that will pay for my B.A., my M.F.A., and my summer home in New Zealand -- though I suppose it would technically be a winter home. Because, you see, when it’s winter here it’s summer there. And I would probably go there during our winter, so that I could look at lush green landscapes and be at peace there, instead of completely Russian like I am during my winters here.
I believe in God.
I read my horoscope closely.
Still, it occurs to me that trying to write a quality novel in 30 days is insane.
So I officially give up, trying to meet the National Writing Month deadline today at 8,500 quality words.
Thank you all for reading. When I do finish my novel sometime in 2006, I’ll definitely let you know – I mean, unless, my agent secures a deal of such magnitude for my debut novel that I have to sign a contract, promising to keep the deal super hush-hush until it can be announced by my proud publishing house with a full spread ad in Publisher’s Weekly.
Yes, folks, The Master.